Deal
by arbitraryink
Summary: Three people. Two verbal wars. One lessthanexplicit lovers scene. It was his party. Her party. What the hell, it was everyone’s party. Christmas is such a forgiving time. Written for Celebrate the Season with Draco and Hermione. DHr. One shot.


**Written for Erythros at the Celebrate the Season with Draco and Hermione fic exchange.**

**Title: Deal**  
**Rating: PG13****  
Summary: Three people. Two verbal wars. One less-than-explicit lovers scene. It was his party. Her party. What the hell, it was everyone's party. Christmas is such a forgiving time.**

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She stood near the refreshment table, holding a plastic red cup to her lips with one white-gloved hand, though she took no sips of the tangy punch inside. Her other hand, from fingertip to forearm covered in the delicate silk, rested on the edge of the table, drummed lightly to the beat of the music. Large, liquid chocolate eyes, like a deer's, roamed the hall, pausing here and there to rest on the vaguely familiar faces of old schoolmates. The long, silky black cloak didn't hide the fact that she wasn't wearing robes. Instead, a pretty red dress, trimmed with white, adorned her slender body. The off-the shoulder cut, displaying an uncertain amount of cleavage, and the high slit that rose halfway up her thigh were more revealing than anyone had ever seen her wear. Ever. The mass of chestnut curls that had been so bushy back in their school days had been somewhat tamed, wound around each other and pinned to the back of her head with a large black clip. Yes, even he must admit that she looked exceptionally beautiful, tonight.

From his position at the head of the balcony overlooking the ballroom, he could view everyone enter the gargantuan chamber, and dismiss them as either someone he'd speak with later, or someone he didn't want to see at all. His mother stood at the set of French doors, smiling prettily and touching hands with everyone who came in (so different from when his father was alive), but then she turned away from the newly arriving guests, looking, looking for someone. When his mother's eyes laid upon her, they lit up, and she glided toward her, returning moments later with the crimson-clad female on her arm – for it truly was _her _party, wasn't it? She'd been the ones to send out invitations; the one to carefully screen the guest list for replies; the one to order about the servants as they cleaned and cooked and prepared the enormous Christmas tree in the corner.

The servants.

She refused to allow him house elves, and her evident distaste for the fashion and the bursts of distress she constantly went through while in their presence was finally too much for him to handle – he rid the manor of them, offering them clothes, food, whatever they wanted, so that they would just leave. And then he'd spent so bloody much money to hire paid servants, just to make her smile.

Everything was right when she smiled.

The smirk that had settled onto his features vanished as he perked up, leaning forward over the balcony to stare at whomever the two most important women in his life were speaking to. Well, he remedied, everything was right when she smiled at _him_. Now, however, she wasn't directing her dimples to him, but to the young, curly-haired Evan Turner, who had introduced himself as her new partner as Head of Muggle Relations at the Ministry. Turner was a pleasant conversationalist, she'd often told him. He'd often wanted to pound the man's face in. The neutral expression he'd adapted while she was talking to Turner faded into a frown, bordered on a scowl. Turner was holding her hand for longer than necessary – and was pulling her out to the center of the floor! He watched for a moment, watched for five, for ten, twenty, until it proved to be too much. Without thinking, he snarled silently, and spinning on his heel, black robes whipping behind him, he strode to the staircase, and started down.

--

Hermione laughed as Evan gently pushed her away from him, keeping a light hold on her fingertips to twirl her and bring her back into his arms. "You're a fantastic dancer, did you know?" she said, trying to keep her steps matched to his.

Grinning modestly, Evan's steps didn't falter. "After the first time I embarrassed my parents by my own little routine, they decided I needed to learn properly."

"Well," Hermione replied, "you've learned well." And then she looked up at him, and his handsome, smiling face was lowering to hers, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of the kiss—

"_Delighted _you could make it, Turner." The too-jovial words resulted in Evan's head snapping up, Hermione's eyes flying open, and a triumphant look crossing Draco's face.

"Malfoy." Evan's smile was forced as he clasped Draco's hand in his own. "A good turnout, tonight. You ought to be impressed."

"Yes," Draco agreed as they released grips. "My mother is skilled with these events, with all the charity balls she hosts." From the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione glaring at him, practically seething. Merlin, she looked as though she'd _wanted _the bastard to kiss her!

Turning to fully face the girl, Draco allowed himself to smirk. "Granger. _Ecstatic _you've come." Slowly, the malice faded from her face, and then she allowed a small smile to settle onto her lips.

"Well, Malfoy, one could find Narcissa to be quite insistent at times."

"I'm sorry," Evan put in during the short pause after her statement, "Narcissa insistent? I wondered why you were here- no! Not that I'm not glad you are! – but… I'm afraid I don't understand."

Her face smoothed out; her voice became distant. "Oh, Narcissa and I have been… spending a bit of time together lately." It was the truth, though not all of it. Very few people knew that the current beta female of the Malfoy clan was slowly losing her mind – the cool head and logic she'd once displayed so openly and admirably was inexorably eluding her. Nobody at all knew for certain how much longer she would retain any sense of reality.

The comment had unnerved her. Draco could see that, and so, apparently, had Evan – the man made effort to put Hermione at ease again, and it seemed to work. His hand muscles twitched – he dearly wondered if he could get away with turning Evan into a frog. Not that _she _was helping at all, the way she was now chatting with him, a twinkle in her eye and a sincere smile on her lips. Evan made a joke and Hermione laughed, that light, merry sound that Draco coveted so. That was the final straw. The man had turned from pest to intruder. Draco took a slow step forward.

"So, Turner," he started, interrupting Hermione. Through the corner of his eye, he could see her stiffen, and could imagine the fire that would be in her optics. He would remedy that later. For now, he had an idiot to get rid of. "What is it, exactly, that you do?"

"Ah." Turning his attention from Hermione – albeit reluctantly – Evan folded his arms across his chest. "Miss Granger and I are actually partners in the office this year. I'm surprised you hadn't heard." Baring his teeth in what could barely pass as a smile, Draco shook his head. "Oh, well. She and I have been assigned co-heads of Muggle Relations. Surprising, isn't it? I've always had an interest in… non-wizards. Malfoy, how is your department holding up right now?"

Biting back a snarl at the triumphant look on Evan's face, Draco hissed his breath from between clenched teeth. His job as an Auror was a prestigious position – the muggle-loving, thickheaded wizard had no right to be insulting it. So what if there were fewer and fewer attacks against the side of the light? Voldemort was dead. There was no reason left to worry. His followers weren't anything the department of Aurors couldn't handle.

"If you'll excuse us, Malfoy, I believe I'd like another dance with Miss Granger before she is whisked away again." Evan took Hermione's hand and led her into the crowd, blatantly ignoring the seething blond man following.

Oh, how he hated the way this man monopolized her attention so well; how she didn't seem to tire of him or his endless conversation; how she didn't seem to be regretful at all. "Actually, Turner, Miss Granger is planning on leaving right away."

Even as she opened her mouth to argue that point, Evan said, "I thought she was planning to stay late, tonight."

As subtle as a train wreck, Malfoy replied with a hint of a smirk, "You thought wrong."

A flash of anger clouded Evan's features for an instant before he was able to cover it with a calm expression. Yet when he spoke, he could not fully keep the distaste from his voice. "I'll take my leave, then. Malfoy." And then, more tenderly, "Miss Granger." He nodded at her before setting off at a brisk walk across the room.

As soon as he was a fair distance away, Draco turned, barely in time to catch Hermione's flushed face as she whirled on her heel. She quickly made her way through the guests after him, as he headed toward an adjoining hallway. From his position where he stood, the only signs of his shock a loose jaw and wide eyes, Draco saw her grasp Evan's hand, and tug him toward the music once more.

And that pissed him off.

--

The clock was striking half past eleven by the time Draco finally saw her slipping from the ballroom. With a few short words, he detached himself from the group of Ministry officials he'd become friendly with at some point, and followed. Once out of sight of the great doors, she glanced around her and then ducked to her right down another hall. Frowning, Draco trailed behind. The exit was in the other direction. Grudgingly, he admitted that she was wise, leaving before midnight. It brought less chance of being encountered.

The hall turned again, and Draco with it. So lost in thought was he, that when he finally took focus again, he was looking directly into Hermione's face. "You had no right!" she seethed, jabbing a finger into his chest. "How unbelievably rude, and _selfish!"  
_"All he wanted was to have a quick fuck," Draco scoffed, refusing to back away. "It was obvious, he looked like he wanted to shag you right there on the floor."

Eyes flying wide open, Hermione's mouth opened, and a stream of choice words escaped the hatch. Draco turned off his hearing. He'd found, in the past, that there was no certain way of ending her tongue-lashing, except for one.

Bringing both hands down onto her shoulders, he vaguely heard, as if from a distance, her words falter. But still, they didn't end. So he took it one step further. Firmly, he pressed his mouth down against hers, effectively ending her tirade as she relaxed in his arms. He savoured the feel of her mouth against his lips, her body pressing against his own, the sweet taste he dreamed of late at night, before pulling away, and taking a step back in anticipation of the slap. Instead, however, her hands fisted in his hair, and she pulled hard. "Bastard," she breathed, and crushed her mouth against his once again. This time, the kiss was not soft or tender. It wasn't giving by either of them, only wanting, taking on both sides.

Draco was faintly aware of the thud as she flattened against the wall – all of his senses were centered right there, on the way her hands were roaming across his chest, slipping under his cloak and pushing it over his shoulders. He barely remembered to slide a hand behind her head, cushioning the impact so that there wouldn't be a painful smack against the solid stone, so absorbed in his task was he. With his free digits, he worked at the clasp fastening her backless dress halfway up her spine, hearing her muffled moan as they parted for breath and he cupped her breast against his palm. All he wanted was to feel her flesh against his, wanted her just to i _touch _ /i him, wanted to touch i _her. _ /i

And then he became aware that the short breaths against neck were taking the form of words. "No." Just that word, repeated over and over again.

"No _what?" _he demanded, dragging his mouth across to her ear, suckling on the sensitive lobe.

"No, we can't _do_ this!" Violently, she pushed him away. "Where's Pansy tonight, hm? Why aren't you with her?"

"She had previous engagements." Irritated, Draco reached for her again, only to have his hands slapped away.

"That's rubbish, Draco Malfoy, and you know it."

Scowling, he glared at her through hooded eyes. "I don't want Pansy tonight," he growled. "I want you. And I don't want you with _him."_

A strange noise ripped through her – something between a sob and a laugh. "Are you forgetting that it was you, Draco, who wanted to be non-exclusive?" It seemed he had. "You told me that you couldn't handle a relationship! You're with Pansy, remember? You chose her over me, because she was only in it for the sex. Isn't that right?"

"You have no idea what's going on inside my head!"

"You're so childish, Draco!"

"I didn't want you to let your bloody emotions get in the way of your sight."

"You just can't handle the thought of me with anyone else!"

He had no comeback to that. She'd struck home. Turning his back on her, he picked his cloak off from the ground, and shook it once, twice, to rid it of any lingering dust or other residue. And then, he was silent for so long, that she was thinking maybe he was reconsidering. A hidden part of her felt elated at the thought, but she pushed it down. She wouldn't let her emotions get in the way of her sight.

When he spoke again, his voice was oddly flat. "The deal still stands, then." Turning back to her, there was no emotion on his face; his eyes were stone barriers, shielding everything going on inside his head, just as they had at Hogwarts. "Non-exclusive. Maybe I'll see you later, Granger, and we'll shag, and then we'll go off, living our own lives."

She'd known it all along. She may not have wanted to believe it, but she couldn't lie and say that she hadn't known. "It worked before," she responded quietly.

"It worked before," he repeated, and took a step down the hall, then another. Slowly, he made his way to the end, and then, without another look back, turned back to his party, and his guests.

Although it truly was _her _party, wasn't it?

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_If you've read it, please review it. _


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